No Place like Home for the Holidays
by PolsVox
Summary: Tim didn't want to be in Gotham this Christmas, but it may be where he was needed most.


Tim wasn't even supposed to be in Gotham right now. He was supposed to be in the Middle East looking into leads that would bring him to Bruce. Instead, he'd somehow been guilted in to staying in Gotham for Christmas this year. He wasn't going to agree, he really wasn't. The whole thing made no logical sense. He had no business left here, and frankly, he didn't want to see his family right now. What was left of it anyway. He had considered popping in to see Alfred fleetingly, before thinking better of the idea. Though the man was always kind, Tim knew he was just as disbelieving of him as the rest of them. Not that Alfred ever judged. He'd welcome Tim in the same manner he always had, with open arms and a plate full of cookies, and a part of Tim really did feel bad that he wouldn't be visiting. Alfred loved them and took care of them as if they were his own grandchildren and Tim had never felt anything but cherished in his presence. He knew it was bad of him not to pop in for an hour to say Merry Christmas. It's just that… Alfred didn't live alone and a visit to the Penthouse wouldn't go unnoticed by its other two residents. Tim balked at the thought. Damian was an arrogant little ass who rubbed him the wrong way at the best of times and absolutely infuriated him at the worst. The kid was a disgrace to the Robin mantle and should never have been allowed to wear the colours. But Dick had made that call and since he was Batman now, it was just the way it was, he guessed bitterly. Tim supposed he could see why Dick had seen it as a good idea at the time if he squinted hard enough. It wasn't what bothered him most though. Dick had changed. The Dick he knew would never have just taken Robin from him without asking. The Dick he knew wouldn't have passed on Robin to a thoughtless little killer. The Dick he knew, most of all, wouldn't have given up on Bruce so easily. The bitter part of Tim thinks Batman has gone straight to his ego, and he didn't want to deal with it. Not now, maybe not ever. Saying hi to Barbara was out of the question as well…they may not have been an item in some time now, but he knew she'd go straight to Dick. Cass was still in Hong Kong and he certainly wasn't going to chance a meeting with Jason, so his other two siblings were out. Either way, he had no interest in seeing any of them. And he was going to leave, really he was, but then Steph stepped in with her big, sad, blue eyes, asking if he wouldn't consider staying just a few more days so she could wish him a Merry Christmas on Christmas. Tim couldn't say no to her. He could make up the 5 days he'd be delaying if he adjusted his plan a little bit. So he reluctantly agreed, planning to set off on Boxing Day instead.

He had assumed the whole ordeal would be a complete waste of time, but three days in that changed. There had been very little evidence of Bruce's presence in Gotham at all thus far. He'd looked. Twice. But early on day three he noticed something he hadn't before now. A series of active alerts on Bruce's personal phone. Which made no sense. Surely Bruce's personal phone wouldn't still be active months after his supposed death? Dick had said he was cancelling it…though Tim wasn't sure if he'd actually done it.

So Tim did what Tim did best. He investigated. He and Bruce had always had that in common. Neither of them could rest until a mystery had either been solved or all leads exhausted. And he certainly hadn't reached either of those points yet. Someone was clearly still paying the bills if the cell was still active and so he decided to explore that avenue instead. The account wasn't in Bruce's name anymore, per se…it was registered to Wayne Enterprises. Clever, if Tim had to say so himself. Using Bruce's own company to hide in plain sight. But it didn't fit. No part of his search so far had lead anywhere near Gotham and it just seemed out of place... Bruce's phone was basically un-hackable. In fact he'd set the program up for Bruce himself, based off of one Dick had built some years ago when pagers were still relevant. Bruce had complimented him for it too, citing it as some of Tim's best work. He'd shrugged the comment off at the time, but now he was left wondering if perhaps that had an element of truth to it. Nothing short of the bat computer could read the actual messages, which left him in an awkward position. Seeing as he was not so keen to visit the Penthouse, he knew the only way to read those messages was to do so on Bruce's phone. He knew tapping into the GPS would give him a false location, but he had a feeling that if anything, Bruce's phone was likely still in his room at the manor where Dick had deposited most of Bruce's personal possessions months ago.

But at least now Tim a plan…and logically it all made sense, but emotionally? It made his skin crawl. He hadn't been in Bruce's room since before he'd disappeared. It felt wrong, knowing Bruce wouldn't be there. Dick had picked up on this in the days after they'd gotten the news, and offered to straighten that part out so he and Alfred wouldn't have to. Tim felt a pang in his chest at that thought. That was the Dick he remembered. The big brother who wanted to protect him for the harsh realities of the world, not the colossal jerk who had taken Robin from him as if it were his to give and take as he pleased. He wished that Dick were here now. To shield his eyes from the empty room, to investigate this instead of him so he wouldn't have to open that wound one more time, to pull him aside with a hug and exactly the right words if and when it all became too much. But Tim couldn't rely on that now. This had to be him. Dick had made that clear months ago. And if it brought him even just an inch closer to finding Bruce, it would be worth every bit of emotional turmoil it may cause him. He would go. And he would go alone.

Tim had never cared much for snow. Especially the gross slush Gotham tended to get this time of year. It was cold, it was wet and it made swinging around the city a goddamn blood sport. But Tim ventured out the next morning none the less. He'd forgone the Red Robin costume, for now anyway, deciding that Tim Drake the civilian going to visit Wayne Manor would get a lot fewer questions than Red Robin the vigilante paying a visit to an empty mansion on Christmas Eve. He brought the costume along, of course, carefully tucked away in a messenger bag with a few other goodies he rarely left home without.

Tim heaved a nearly-visible sigh of relief when the cab finally pulled up to the gates of Wayne manor. Hailing the damn thing had been a challenge to say the least, though that one drunken sidewalk Santa had found immeasurable humour in watching him try. At least someone was enjoying their Christmas Eve, he lamented, as he paid the cab driver and exited onto the familiar driveway. The sleet by now had turned into a light snow fall and Tim looked on as the cab started to pull away from the gates. He hadn't been here since he and Dick had last fought. It looked so…still. Like a corpse.

It was only a short walk to the main door, though the wet snow made even that a little bit more treacherous than he'd remembered. And damp. Tim could swear he felt the cold seeping straight through his skin into his bones. Looking up at the main entrance, he wondered if the chill he felt was completely a result of the weather. He considered taking the back entrance through the kitchen instead, but just couldn't risk it. Alfred may not live here anymore, but the man would know for sure if Tim tracked dirt and snow through the pristine kitchen. His key worked perfectly when he tried it and he took a steadying breath as he opened the door for the first time in months. There was no time to be nervous. He'd come here for a reason. Keeping his mind purposefully blank, he took a bold step inside.

He'd shed his wet coat almost immediately, followed quickly by his boots, noting that his were the only pair there. It was odd. Bruce had always kept a pair or two in the entryway if nothing else. Though lately Damian seemed to let his shoes collect there until Alfred could no longer stand the mess. Dick didn't live with them, but visited often, and it wasn't unusual at all to see one of his worn sneakers at one end of the mat and the other in some inexplicably different location a foot or two away. But now it was just a pair of snow boots that Tim rarely wore. They looked…lonely. Which Tim found a ridiculous, emotional thought. They were shoes. They couldn't feel loneliness. Too bad that Tim still could.

His mind raced as he traversed the halls for the first time in what felt like ages. Had the manor always been this large? He could swear his footsteps were echoing off the walls. None of this was right. It was too cold, and too dark. There was no smell of fresh baked cookies when he'd passed the kitchen, and no sounds of some old movie that someone had left on in the sitting room. The electricity had been left on, he'd found when he tried one of the light switches in the hall, and the heat had been set low, barely above the current temperature outside. Perhaps Dick and Alfred had intended to come back at some point? Tim hated to admit it, but he hoped so. The manor like this was just…so wrong. The manor he'd lived in was large and ominous, but it was never quiet and lifeless like this. There was always someone somewhere busy with something. He suddenly missed the sounds of Alfred at his sewing machine or the sound of Bruce listening to some old-timey radio show as he typed away in his study. 'Only the shadow knows,' Tim remembered, bringing a smile to his face. He and Dick had teased Bruce with that for years. Bruce never seemed to mind, in fact he seemed somewhat amused by it. Bruce…right. Tim remembered now. He was here for a purpose. Reminiscing about the past wasn't gonna bring him any closer to Bruce…

He took the familiar route to the floor where the bedrooms were, and it…hurt. He tried to keep focused, but it was difficult. Everything seemed to spark a memory. The dent in the drywall where Dick had uncharacteristically lost his balance and fallen off the banister while goofing off one day. The gouge in the floor where Bruce had once dropped a letter opener. The stain on the carpet where Tim had once spilled a whole mug full of Alfred's cocoa after a particularly strenuous patrol. He'd expected to be yelled at for that. He was new to Robin at the time, new to the family, and they'd already been nice enough to let him stay the weekend while his parents were away…but the yelling never came. Alfred had merely tsk'd at him, making a quip about hand-eye coordination before informing him that there was more waiting for him in the kitchen. Bruce had looked at the stain on the carpet with only nonchalance, deadpanning that it would match the one in the hall where Dick had done the same thing years ago. He could see that nearly identical stain too, as well as one other that no one had ever cared to explain. Tim concluded that that must be one of Jason's. The Robin before him had apparently done quite a number on the carpets around the manor. Various coloured stains, some from food, some from drink, a few from oil and at least one cigarette burn of all things, but they were never really talked about. He had never asked anyone directly, but he knew. They always wore that strange, sad look when he stumbled across something that was Jason's. Would they do the same thing with Bruce's things now that he was gone? If Tim couldn't bring him back? He shook his head quickly to banish the thoughts. Failure wasn't an option. Not when it came to Bruce.

Just ahead was the little row of doors that had been their bedrooms. Well, the boys bedrooms anyway. Cass had a room here too of course, but Alfred had insisted that a young lady such as herself would have no interest in sharing a wing with a bunch of young men. He was probably right. Alfred usually was. So her room was in the same wing as Alfred's quarters. But the rest of them had practically taken over this part of the manor. Despite himself, he couldn't help but peek into each of them as he passed. He started with the newest—Damian's room—though he didn't really care much. It was curiosity mostly. The little hell spawn had always been so insistent that Tim was not allowed in his room when they were both living there. Because clearly Tim was just dying to get into his room and mess with his cool 10 year old stuff. He couldn't even suppress his eye roll at the thought as he poked his head in. Inside was nothing spectacular or even interesting. An old guest room that had barely been changed from its original design. The bedspread was Star Wars, though he never recalled Damian watching the movies. It looked as though the desk had held a few personal items based on the dust outlines but really, compared to the other rooms, there was very little that was personal about it. Typical Demon Brat. Probably too good for worldly possessions or something. Either that, or he considered swords and shuriken to be decorative and had taken them with him when he left.

Jason's room was next to Damian's. It was a room he'd only ever been in once or twice, mostly to see if he could find any clues as to whom the Robin prior to him had been. It had stood as a relic, something of a memorial in a lot of ways, even though Jason was currently alive and crawling the streets of Gotham calling himself the Red Hood. But like the Robin suit, they'd kept it none the less. He'd occasionally catch one of them in here. Alfred most often. It seemed as though he had taken to dusting and airing the room out regularly since learning of Jason's resurrection. The items inside were never moved, only touched with the utmost care to lift the fine layer of dust that settled on them. He wasn't exactly sure why the man did it, Jason had never expressed any interest in returning to say the least, but he never questioned Alfred's logic. Alfred never did anything without a reason. He'd seen Dick come and go once in a while too. He wasn't so obvious though, creeping in when he thought no one would be around. He never asked, or acknowledged that he'd seen his brother there. Not to him anyway. Alfred had once explained that Dick carried a lot of guilt when it came to Jason, which sort of confused Tim at first. He'd followed Batman and Robin for years and had barely seen Nightwing in all of the time Jason had been Robin. Besides, Dick had been nothing but great when Tim's turn as Robin came around, not only training him but taking a special interest in him as a person too. In time, he came to learn that Dick hadn't exactly been the same kind of brother to Jason as he'd been to him. It stemmed mostly from conflict with Bruce, granted, but still Tim could see, if he looked hard enough, how heavily it weighed on his older brother at times. Bruce came in here the least frequently, best Tim could tell anyway, but he always stayed the longest. Tim could only imagine what he had felt in those long, lost moments. He never mentioned it or intruded. He never even investigated it like with Dick and Alfred. It simply wasn't his place. Jason's room was a place where Bruce came to be alone with his memories and nothing more.

Dick's current room was directly across the hall from Jason's, and had also started out as a guest room. Tim wasn't surprised to see that even packed up and unlived in as it was, it was messy. Boxes everywhere, some tipped over and never picked up, an empty coffee mug left on the dresser haphazardly that Alfred clearly hadn't known about, sheets and comforter thrown over the mattress and declared 'good enough' when Dick realized he had to make the bed before he left. Tim smirked. This was definitely Dick's trademark. There were a few artifacts missing, though. The Flying Graysons poster was the most notable, though he could see the clear outline where it had been pinned to the wall all these years. And the pictures. Dick's room always had pictures. Of his parents. Of Bruce. Barbara and Alfred. Of Tim. With that thought, he closed the door, not wanting to come back to the harsh reality just yet. Dick had moved on from him every bit as much as he'd moved on from this room and it didn't deserve a second thought.

His own room had once belonged to Dick when he'd first come to live at the manor. And to Jason briefly, before some sort of altercation with Dick which lead to Jason getting his own room across the hall and Dick starting to use the guest room that would eventually become his. It had taken awhile before the room had actually felt like his, but in time it really had. He'd left most of his stuff behind when he stormed out and it looks as though someone had packed some of it away. He couldn't help but sit on the old comforter. It was the same one they'd set out for him when he officially came to live there, still soft beneath his fingers despite its age. His old posters had been left up too, proudly stating his preteen devotion to a band he didn't really listen to anymore. His computer had been left sitting out, though it was turned off, but his action figures and memorabilia had been packed away. He wondered who had done so. He wasn't angry, it was probably all safer in boxes than anywhere else, just curious. The action figures had always been something Bruce had never really understood, often questioning why Tim felt the need to have so many toys. Tim was always quick to correct him, explaining that they definitely were not toys, they were collectibles and they were cool. Bruce had always shook his head a little bit and moved on with his day. Tim never minded, not really. At least Bruce noticed that he had collectable figures. His own parents would never have picked up on it, never mind commented on it. His dad had tried, of course, but old habits die hard and keeping distance was just easy for them. Not that Bruce had been the warmest and most involved of fathers either, but it was different. Bruce may not have taken an active role all the time, but he had always taken an interest. Tim never felt like he hadn't cared. It was clear that he cared, even if he never said it. Cass may be the master of body language but Tim was a natural at looking at clues objectively and it always lead to the same conclusion. Bruce cared. Loved him as if he were his own. And now he was gone.

Tim had to stop himself and take a deep breath as he felt the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He had a job to do, and this was just a distraction. Another goddamned distraction and nothing more. This room, his room, held no clues. Only memories. Somewhat reluctantly, he got up, smoothed the comforter out a little to mask his presence and set out further down the hall where he knew he'd find both Bruce's master suite and, with any luck, some answers as to why Bruce's phone was still active. Every step he took felt heavier. This was Bruce's room. The same room he'd fled to, that all of them had fled to at some point, when the world started to get a little bit too dark or scary. He plainly remembered fleeing to Bruce's room after his dad had died. Bruce never questioned it when Tim had shown up at his door. That time or any other. He understood. And though no one would ever consider Bruce a warm person, in those moments it didn't matter. Bruce always seemed to understand what Tim had needed in those moments and the comfort he offered never failed to make him feel better.

He felt very much like it was one of those times now as he stood in front of the large wooden double doors of Bruce's room. But he hesitated to open those doors. He'd love nothing more right now that to run in, straight to Bruce's side and tell him everything that'd been bothering him before falling into his reluctant, but open arms for a while and let himself be taken care of, even if only for an hour or two. Bruce wouldn't be there this time though. He'd be doing nothing more than running into an empty room and he just wasn't ready to find it this way. Not yet. But ready or not, there was only one way to solve this problem. He was determined that the next time he entered this room, it wouldn't be empty.

Tim had expected the room to be as empty and still as the rest of the manor, but instead found it oddly…warm feeling. Lived in wasn't exactly the right term, but it hadn't been untouched and left to rot like the rest of the manor had. Tim's careful blue eyes scanned the room as he took a cautious step in, closing the door behind him. The room still had boxed up items, but they had been shoved into the closet out of sight for the most part. The chair Bruce had always kept in the corner but really never used had two sweatshirts carelessly thrown over the back of it, which was not unheard of for Bruce, but it was pretty unusual for someone who was so organized. Everything had a place and Bruce didn't often stray from that. Which is why it was also unusual that the bed looked to be more or less unmade, sheets and comforter thrown over the bed, not without care, but it was unpolished. Un-Bruce-like. There was something unsettling about it, but Tim couldn't really put his finger on it. He turned away, scanning the dresser, but it only brought about more questions. Bruce had only ever kept a few pictures in his room at any given time, usually older pictures of Alfred or his parents or current pictures of the family. Except Jason. He never had pictures of Jason.

Last time he'd come in Bruce had had an old picture of his parents, smiling away at some gala with Alfred serving drinks in the background, a picture of Cass, Barbara and Steph that the girls had taken on some girls night out before Cass had left for Hong Kong, Damian's first school picture which had still somehow made the kid look like a little psycho and a picture of Himself and Dick with Bruce at the opening of a new library that Wayne Enterprises had partially funded. And they were still there, but sitting face-down on the dresser. More unusual was next to them sat Bruce's old phone, right in plain sight. Upon closer inspection, Tim found that it was not only on, but it was hooked up to the charger too. Something was very off here.

Bruce had always used a fingerprint ID for his devices as a security measure, and it had kept most people out, but Tim had been prepared for this. He found and lifted a print off the door easily, transferring it to another medium and unlocking the phone within minutes. It was a trick Bruce had taught him his first week as Robin. He'd known he would find a large influx of text messages before starting, but seeing the number of unread messages was still staggering. The fact that they were all unread was also a bit strange. Someone had sent them and received no reply, but they kept sending them anyway. No one had even read them. Until now, that is, Tim noted, letting a breath out and diving head first into Bruce's inbox. It felt wrong on a couple different levels, but he did so anyway knowing that Bruce would have wanted him to get to the bottom of it, regardless of personal boundaries. Indeed the vast majority of texts had come from a single unknown number. Lots of them. Tim opened the thread and scanned over the first couple. His eyes quickly narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. This is…not what he'd expected. Not at all.

I nearly called you again today. Had the phone in my hand and everything. I can practically see you shake your head at me. And I deserve it this time. It's been months. But anyway, Merry Christmas!

I miss you. I don't know when this is supposed to get easier.

I saw Jason today. He seemed well. He wasn't happy to see me, but he also didn't punch me in the face. I'm not sure what to make of that, but I'm still calling it a victory.

Dammit Bruce what the hell were you thinking! We still need you here! And now you're dead and there's nothing I can do about it! You've done plenty of shitty things before, but dying is by far the worst!

Tim paused, shaking his head. This…wasn't right. This couldn't be right. He was supposed to find someone trying to exploit Bruce's death for money, or maybe some telemarketing company who didn't know when to give up, not a bunch of casual text messages that were never supposed to be answered. And it was just…sad to read. This was someone pouring their heart out to a dead man. Someone who sounded… a lot like Dick.

Damian's teacher wants to see me again. Behavioral problems, just like last time. At least his report card was good. Still, I should have seen this coming. How the hell did you deal with us growing up?

Have I told you recently how much I hate galas? Cause I really hate Galas.

It's gonna be weird having Christmas without you. I don't really see the point this year. Damian doesn't care and it's not like anyone's gonna be here. Alfred is insisting, of course, and we all know that he's the law around here. Don't worry, I'll be good. I won't start any fights. I'll smile and laugh and make sure they have a good time since you can't, but the truth is my heart isn't in it and I don't know if next Christmas will be any different.

Ever have one of those years where everything you touch just turns to hell in a handbasket?

Tim paused again, biting his lip. There were hundreds of them. His stomach was in knots. His heart inexplicably sped up in his chest. He took a deep breath. Keep emotions out of it. There was no definitive evidence whatsoever that this was Dick. This could hypothetically be anyone. These may not even be real messages. There had to be a way to disprove it. There had to be some way to go back to believing his brother was just a huge jerk.

He scrolled down the messages further. Looking for something, anything that maybe only Dick could know. If he didn't find that, then it could still be anyone.

I know we're not supposed to say it, but I love you.

Generic. He had to look further.

I tried to call Tim again. I'm pretty sure he's blocked my number. I don't know what to do.

Speculation. A lot of people had tried to call him and he hadn't blocked any numbers aside from one persistent telemarketer. He had to look deeper. Go older. A part of him, a small but vocal part, wanted him to just stop. This was someone pouring their heart out to Bruce via text. This wasn't for his eyes to see. This had nothing to do with Bruce's disappearance. But he had to know. He scrolled down, looking for texts that mentioned himself. At least he could verify the information if he'd been involved.

Tim hates me. I know if you were here you'd try to tell me he didn't, but trust me he does. It's like this whole family is falling apart without you.

Crap.

Bruce, I don't know what to do. Tim's got this idea that you're still alive, but it can't be true. And I'm so scared that he's gonna get himself killed chasing after nothing. He won't stop. You know what he's like when he gets an idea into his head. And even if he doesn't? What if he spends all this time and effort and doesn't find you at the end? I want to help him, Bruce, but he just wants me out of his way. I can't lose you both. If by some miracle you are still alive, let me know, okay? I could really use you right now.

Double crap.

Tim left today. It's all my fault. I meant well, but my follow through? I guess the one good thing about you not being here is that I won't have to see how disappointed you are in me. It's not much of a silver lining when your little brother tells you to go fuck yourself though. Everything is so screwed up and I can't even tell anyone. You're the only one who understands and you're gone. They can't see me weak. If I'm expected to lead and I fall, everything else falls with me. You told me that once when I was still leading the Teen Titans and it's truer now than it was then. But how do I do that when it all hurts so bad? You always told me I was too emotional, but I can't help it. I was never good at distancing myself. I was never you. How am I supposed to keep going? He's never told me to go fuck myself before. I'm sorry Bruce. I'm supposed to be taking care of them and instead I'm just making it all worse.

Tim let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It was Dick. It was definitely Dick. The Teen Titans reference over a civilian phone was a huge slip on his part, but it wasn't that part that had made his heart ache like it had. Tim recalled it clearly. Robin had been taken from him. He was furious and upset. Dick had confronted him later that night as he was angrily packing up a few things to take with him to one of the safe houses. Tim had told him to get out, but it was Dick and the man almost never did what he was told. He'd sat down instead, giving Tim some bullshit speech about how giving up Robin wasn't the end and that they could figure it out together. But he hadn't given up Robin. Dick had taken it from him and they had fought in a way that Tim had never thought they would. Granted it hadn't been the classic screaming match that he had seen Dick engage in with Bruce, but it had gotten pretty nasty. Dick had stopped them at a certain point, telling him they didn't need to fight. Tim had thought it had made him look like a self-righteous prick at the time. He'd told Tim that it was inevitable that things would be different with Bruce gone, but they were still brothers and family was more important than who wore what costume. And Tim had exploded. This isn't how you treated family and it did matter when you were on the receiving end. Tim summed this up quickly and efficiently, telling Dick that he could go fuck himself before throwing a nearby magazine at him before storming out of the manor. Dick hadn't followed him. He'd tried to call multiple times, but Tim never answered. He'd deleted the voicemails as soon as they'd come in. Dick had changed. He was an ass. A self-righteous ass who's ego could barely fit into the cowl. And… Tim had no idea he'd been hurting this much. To the point where he was paying Bruce's cell phone bills and sending text messages, sometimes several a day, to a man who wasn't going to answer him.

He unhooked the phone from the charger and carried it with him as he sat down in that chair Bruce had never used, feeling drained emotionally if not physically. He had the information he came for, but what should he do with it? Dick would be unhappy, to say the least, that Tim had found this at all. He'd obviously tried to cover his tracks. And besides, he was still mad at Dick. Dick didn't seem to care about his feelings when he'd replaced him, so why should Tim care now? But the problem was, he did care. Being mad wasn't a good enough excuse to let his brother suffer. On the other hand, he couldn't trust himself to keep any conversations between them civil, and that wouldn't help either of them.

Then something caught his eye. The window latch. It was closed and secured, but it wasn't secured right. The latch was on the wrong side. Bruce had shown him very early on the optimal way to close and latch the windows in the manor. The latch should sit to the right so it would be harder for someone to reach if they wanted to jimmy open a window. This one sat to the left. Bruce would never have done this. Even on his worst, most hectic day, he wouldn't have done this. Someone had to have been in here at some point. It prompted him to take a closer look at the rest of the room.

The sweaters that he had his back rested against had been two that Bruce wore regularly, but he couldn't recall him wearing either of them in the days before he disappeared. It was unlikely they'd sat there for several days without Bruce or Alfred putting them away. The pictures on the dresser were flipped face-down, but they hadn't been put away like a lot of Bruce's other belongings which implied that perhaps they'd been left out for a reason. The boxes that were packed had been put deliberately out of sight, whereas the boxes left in the other rooms had just been stacked carelessly. It made Bruce's room look less empty than the others. Which may have been intentional, as upon second look, someone had obviously slept in that bed. It was impossible to tell at what point in time, granted, but it didn't look like a set up that was typical to Bruce. It was too haphazard. Tim noted the lower corner of the sheets, which normally had been tightly tucked in, had been kicked free, implying a fairly active sleeper. The pillows were also askew, none quite centered as Bruce usually kept them. One in particular was angled diagonally as if someone had held it while they slept. It was an odd sleeping habit, but he knew one person who engaged in it regularly. Someone who also had a potential reason to break into the manor in the first place.

Tim sighed again, his throat tight against the action. At this point what were the odds that it hadn't been his older brother sneaking in to hang out in Bruce's room? His heart sank a little more at the thought. Had Dick felt so lost and alone that this was the only place he could come to try and seek comfort? Tim could only imagine the weight of the cowl on his shoulders, but it was far from the only responsibility Dick had had to take on at a moment's notice. Wayne enterprises. Damian. Dick was only in his early 20's and now he had guardianship of that little monster. He technically had guardianship of Tim too, of course, but Tim was practically an adult now and Dick had trusted him to his own devices for the most part, or at least that's what Tim assumed as he'd never really intervened in any legal context. But Dick had so many friends…did he not feel like he could go to any of them? He looked down again at the phone in his hand. It was a risk, but Dick was still his brother and he had to try.

Tim went back to the thread of texts he'd read, without permission, he reminded himself and called the number before he could talk himself out of it. He was half-surprised when it actually started to ring. Once. Twice. But it kept ringing and had eventually gone to a generic voice mail message informing him that the caller was not available, at which point Tim hung up. It was entirely possible this was just one of the burner phones they used when going undercover and it was just sitting somewhere in the glove box of the Batmobile or something. Besides, a voicemail just didn't seem right in this situation. So now what? Tim wasn't too keen on just showing up at the penthouse with Bruce's phone in hand to ask Dick questions about his mental health while Alfred and Damian listened at the door. But he couldn't just let this sit either. Dick would never let the issue drop if the roles were reversed and he wouldn't either. Even if Dick was a giant douche these days.

He jumped slightly when he left the sudden vibration and heard the generic ring of Bruce's phone still in his hand. He looked down at the display. Unknown caller. Looks like someone had seen his call after all. He swallowed away his unease, accepted the call and put the phone to his ear tentatively.

"Hello?" He asked cautiously into the phone. There was a long pause on the other end.

"Who is this?" He could hear Dick's tentative, if not shaky voice, ask through the speaker.

"Dick, its Tim," He assured him and he braced himself. He knew Dick well enough to know that he wasn't easily predictable. Would he be mad that Tim was using Bruce's phone, angry that he knew about the texts, or would he just laugh the whole thing off as some sort of joke? Any of these situations were entirely possible and Tim, quite frankly, wasn't sure which to prepare for.

"Tim? This-this is Bruce's number…" He trailed off, clearly shaken. Putting the pieces together much too slowly for someone of his intelligence. But the same thing that made Dick more unpredictable than the rest of them was likely also at work here; Dick got emotional sometimes. If he wasn't careful, it could really mess him up in the field. Tim had seen it happen on a small handful of occasions. And he mentally kicked himself for his own rashness. Of course Dick was shaken. Seeing Bruce's number come up on the phone he'd secretly been using to contact him, on Christmas Eve of all days, had clearly rattled him.

"Yeah I know. I'm at the manor," Tim explained gently. Though he really hadn't wanted to get involved in any of this, it still felt wrong to hear his strong, confident big brother struggle to form a coherent thought. "You should come too. We can talk," Tim started, hoping he didn't sound glaringly obvious.

"You want to talk?" Dick asked over the phone, confused. "Are you okay?" He followed up quickly, worry clearly evident in his tone. How could Tim answer this exactly? Things clearly weren't okay, but it's not like he'd called him because Mr. Freeze was rampaging through the city.

"I don't know. I was kinda hoping you could tell me," Tim answered, standing from the chair and starting to pace. The silence dragged on, unusual for Dick who was the family's most vocal member by far. Tim thought maybe he was piecing it together now that some of the initial confusion had worn off. If not now, it would be soon.

"Wait a minute…How did you know to call this number and not my cell?" Dick asked suddenly, just a touch of fear creeping into his voice. Tim bit his lip lightly, both relieved and apprehensive that Dick had finally caught up.

"It's a bit of a long story…but…I…I saw the texts," He admits, feeling a little guilty as he hears Dick suck in a breath from the other end of the phone. Tim decided to strike while the iron was hot and save his brother a moment of weakness, at least until they were face to face. "Will you come to the manor?" he asked, hoping this wouldn't lead to a fight. Another fight, if he was being technical.

"I…Look, I can explain this…" He can hear Dick say on the other end, "I was just testing the service out on this phone. It's a new burner, I just had to be sure it worked," He rambled out before Tim could stop him. It was a thin excuse. A very, very thin, excuse that probably wouldn't have worked on Tim when he was five, never mind now. Why Dick even bothered to offer it was a questionable decision. One that someone might make if they had panicked a little…

"Okay, fine. But will you come to the manor? I'm in the master bedroom," Tim repeated, trying to get his brothers focus back. There was a long silence and Tim had just started to worry when Dick's voice came through the line again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll meet you there," Dick agrees, and Tim is relieved that at least the first hurdle got cleared without any harsh words or screaming. Now for the rest of the obstacle course.

Dick had used the window in Bruce's room as Tim had expected when he asked him to meet here. His theory about the latch had been spot on too, as Dick opened it with ease and minimal tools before climbing in and landing gracefully on the plush carpet. Tim felt nervous as he stood, but he couldn't place why. Dick's temper was legendary, but it was rarely directed towards him. And if he'd wanted to outright fight, he wouldn't have waited to hang up the phone.

"Hey Timmy," He greeted carefully. Maybe Tim wasn't the only one who was nervous about seeing the other. Tim looked his brother over for the first time in…how long had it been? Out of costume, maybe three months? But in that time he looked like he'd gained years. Dick had always looked younger than he actually was, especially in his Robin days. It was an advantage for him most of the time. It made people underestimate him. But now he looked tired and weary and every bit his age. He wasn't that old, granted, but it was still staggering. Though Tim wasn't sure he himself looked much better these days. Without someone to rein him in, it was all too easy for him to forgo basic needs like eating and sleeping in lieu of spending just one or two more hours looking into leads that would help him find Bruce. Those hours would often turn into all-night ventures chasing after the smallest bits of information. It kept his mind busy and his focus tight, but left him feeling physically drained a lot of the time. Dick had always been just as ready and willing to spend all night, sometimes several nights, staying up working if a case was important. But he looked tired in a different way now.

"Hey Dick," He greeted back after a moment, less careful. He knew his brother a lot better than most people and if he felt threatened they would get nowhere. One could never predict a hundred percent if the response was gonna be fight or flight with Dick but it would be one of the two extremes for sure.

"How have you been?" Dick asks after an awkward pause. Tim feels it too. Things had almost never been awkward between them before, and if it had it was usually so easy to just laugh it off after a minute or two. Tim missed those times terribly.

"Okay, I guess. Busy. Tired," Tim started and stopped himself. How was he gonna broach the real issue here? He didn't want to talk to Dick, didn't want to see him even. But at the same time, it wasn't like he wanted to see him hurt either. And he was probably the only one who knew how deep the problem actually ran, which made him the only person who could potentially help. He had an obligation.

"You should sleep more, little brother. It's not healthy to keep yourself in a constant state of sleep deprivation," Dick says in response. Tim knows he meant it to be light, almost a joke between them. But the hurt was too raw for Tim and he narrowed his eyes at the suggestion.

"I think you lost the right to tell me what to do when I stopped being Robin, Batman," He bit back harshly. Uncharacteristically.

"Tim, I didn't—" There was a pause as Dick forced his mouth to stop saying words, "You're right. I shouldn't be telling you what to do," Dick said after a moment. Tim regretted his words immediately. They were impulsive, and had been meant to hurt. He had expected Dick to contest his statement or maybe deflect it with a joke. He hadn't expected him to just give in like that. That wasn't what Dick did. He regularly stood his ground with people way more intimidating than Tim Drake. Villains who could crush him with a single blow. Batman. The entire Justice League on a few occasions.

"Look, Tim, I know I'm not your favorite person right now and you really don't owe me anything, but could you maybe not tell anyone about the uh…You know all of this?" Dick asks, and his words are unsteady, his eyes not quite meeting Tim's. This isn't how he'd wanted this to go. With nothing resolved and Dick both ashamed and ready to bolt. But the problem was that maybe a part of him did want to see Dick like this. Hurt. Vulnerable. Just like he'd been when Dick had ripped his identity away from him and given it to Damian. It was only a small part, a very small part, but how would he stop it from winning out?

"You should talk about it with someone," Tim offered, hoping that this would be what? An out? That one simple suggestion would send Dick running to someone else and opening up about all his problems? Dick didn't operate like that. None of the bats did. They were notorious for bottling things up and powering through emotional turmoil. It exasperated people around them to no end. And Dick was especially bad. The bitter, dark part of Tim pointed out that it was because of Dick's over inflated pride, but the logical part knew better. Dick would sit for hours with people. Listening. Helping them sort out their own problems. Offering a shoulder to cry on. He did it without judgement or hesitation. But when it came to his own problems, he would rarely utter a word or give the slightest inclination that something was really wrong. Tim had a theory about this. At some point Dick had become the rock that the entire family had leaned on, even Bruce to a certain extent. Hell, most of the superhero community relied on him to keep it all together. It had made him reluctant to talk about his issues, because if they were concerned about him they may not go to him next time they had a problem. A rock is only good until it crumbles, after all. He wanted to be understanding. Was trying to be understanding, but that small, dark part was winning out.

"I'm pretty sure your pride can take the hit," Tim found himself muttering when Dick didn't respond, causing Dick to narrow his eyes and glance at him sidelong.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked Tim bitterly.

"I think you know what it means, Dick. It's a wonder the cowl even fits over your inflated ego," Tim bit out. It was harsh. It was too harsh and he knew. But Dick had been such an ass. He could dish it, he could take it as far as Tim was concerned in this moment.

"Oh my god, really? You don't know shit," Dick replied with a humorless laugh, which just served to anger Tim more. "You have no idea," He adds before Tim can cut in.

"Really? Really, I have no idea what I'm talking about?" Tim can feel his jaw tightening painfully, and motions to the phone sitting on the dresser. Bruce's phone. "The evidence is pretty clear, don't you think? You've always been so afraid of turning into Batman, but you did the second you put the cowl on! You're cold and arrogant and too proud to ask for help when you really need it!" Tim shouted into the empty room. Dick drew in a sharp breath.

"You got all that from a few messages on Bruce's phone, huh?! Which, by the way, was none of your damn business!" Dick shouts back, though not as angrily as Tim would have thought.

"I have every right to look at Bruce's phone!" Tim said, waving a hand at the dresser, "And what about you? What were you thinking? You'd just send messages to Bruce's phone instead of talk to people who may actually be able to help! God, Dick, this isn't just the occasional message! You're a goddamn mess! And the worst part is now I'm stuck in the middle of it!" Tim didn't know where any of this was coming from. The past few months had been so screwed up. He loved Dick, but he despised him. He wanted to talk to him, but he couldn't stand the thought of him.

"Tim, you can walk away anytime. It's okay. I know it looks bad, but there's really nothing to talk about," Dick starts, fight visibly starting to leave him, replaced by an air of sadness, but Tim cuts him off.

"I disagree," Tim says, calling his bluff, though he could feel the fight slowly start to leave him too after hearing Dick's words, considering his own just a moment ago. Dick's face stayed neutral. It's what Bruce taught them to do when they didn't have full control of a tense conversation. "You sent over 300 messages to a man you think is dead, Dick. In like 3 months. And then you hid it. That isn't exactly nothing," Tim pointed out, studying Dick's face carefully. It didn't waver. But his eyes looked far away. He'd let the conversation get out of hand. It was dumb and immature, and did nothing to help either of them. Frankly he was tired of being angry.

"He is dead, Tim," Dick says after a moment. So certain. Tim took in a breath. Was Dick trying to set him off?

"Just cause you think so, doesn't make it true," He said, almost proud of himself for not taking it further than that. Tim had always had the uncanny ability to see the big picture. And getting mad now, starting a fight on an old topic that they just weren't going to agree on wasn't going to help either of them. Even if starting a fight might give him a good excuse to live out his fantasy of punching his brother right about now.

"Well by that logic, just cause you think I'm sad and pathetic, doesn't make it true either," Dick bit back with just a touch of harshness in his tone. And just a touch of hurt. But the words made Tim soften a little bit.

"I never said you were sad or pathetic," He pointed out, tone bordering on gentle. Big picture. He had to remember the big picture. He took a couple strides, eventually coming to sit on the edge of Bruce's bed. "But I do think this is a bit extreme, don't you?"

Dick paused a moment, eyebrows knitting together in concentration before turning away from Tim to look out the window. His shoulders were hunched in a way Tim was unaccustomed to, his eyes focused on something in the dim daylight outside, jaw tight.

"I don't know. Is it so extreme to miss him?" Dick asked after a moment in a small voice. And Tim closed his eyes and let his head fall slightly. Of course it wasn't extreme to miss him. They'd both thought of Bruce as a second father, even if they hadn't ever really called him Dad. He was there for them whenever they had needed him. Got them through good times and bad times. Taught them everything he knew and made them into what they were today. Tim wasn't sure there was a better definition of a father. And he knew that if Bruce were here he'd want them to take care of each other. Which, honestly made him feel a little guilty about going off on Dick just now. Even if he had deserved it, it was still a low blow.

"No. It's not. I miss him too," Tim admitted, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. He couldn't afford to let it get the better of him now. Perspective was key. This was about Dick's problem, not his. He had hope that Bruce could be brought back. Right now Dick had nothing but an empty room and a series of text messages that weren't going to be answered. But Dick didn't respond.

"Dick?" Tim inquired, hoping it would prompt him to open up a little bit more. To at least say something. He'd been quiet since Tim's admission and hadn't turned from the window. It was off-putting to not receive a response of sympathy from his older brother, who was normally so good at picking up on people's emotions and pacifying them. Tim didn't open up easily or often about things he was feeling. Maybe it was why he understood Bruce so well at times. It's not that he didn't feel things, it was just that it was hard to express it in words. Dick knew this and was normally the first to encourage any form of expression they'd offer up. If the situation had been any different, Tim would have just passed this off as Dick living up to his namesake, but it wasn't any other day and any other situation. It prompted him to do something that he hadn't done since Bruce's disappearance. It prompted him to take a closer look.

Dick hadn't moved from his position at the window. He stood just a little bit too rigid, his breathing just a little too deep, a little bit shaky even. It was too light outside to catch a clear reflection of his face in the window, but Tim could see enough. His brother's eyes looking up and to the right, looking into the bright light overhead, lip quivering just slightly. It was Dick Grayson at a low point. Just like that Tim realized that he hadn't actually wanted to see this. The small part of him that wanted to see Dick suffer had gotten his wish and yet Tim found himself no happier. There was no satisfaction to be had from this like that little dark force had assured him there would be. The hurt that he'd felt hadn't dissipated simply because Dick was hurting too. Instead a new hurt blossomed within him. A hurt for someone other than himself.

Affection had always been awkward for Tim. His parents had never been affectionate, Bruce had never been overtly affectionate and that combined with his naturally introverted nature made Tim a tangled ball of nerves when he had to take the lead on such matters. It was certainly the case now. He still had to try. Dick had really been his example for dealing with people over the years. He didn't struggle with these things the way the rest of them did. Tim had practically expected at least a hand on his shoulder or a hair ruffle every time he saw Dick in or out of costume. Tim always envied that ability, that natural finesse with people, but he'd never really been able to replicate it.

"Hey, you alright?" Tim asked carefully, rising from the edge of Bruce's bed. Dick took a deep breath in, simply nodding, and clearing his throat, perhaps not trusting his voice. Tim was at a loss. He'd never really been in this position with Dick, at least not without someone else to bail him out. Barbara. Alfred. Bruce, though he was just as awkward as Tim was, but he pulled it off when he'd needed to. Tim could almost feel panic rise and self-doubt start to set in, but he had to do something. After all…he'd kinda contributed to this. He reached a hand out timidly, laying his fingers gently on Dicks arm, not pressing, just letting him know he wasn't alone. Hopefully, anyway. This was unfamiliar ground. But Dick was a tactile person. Tim wasn't sure how it would be interpreted exactly, but it wouldn't go unnoticed.

"I won't tell anyone. If you don't want me to. I really didn't mean to see it, but I did and I got worried," Tim added, though he had to admit it was partially to alleviate his own guilt on the issue. At this point he'd say just about anything to make Dick feel better. Tim heard Dick gasp and saw him put a hand to his face. And the façade crumbled.

"Oh god Tim, I'm so sorry," Dick forced out in what was almost a sob. Tim was stunned momentarily, both in surprise and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Tim felt his grip on Dick's arm tighten instinctively. He could feel his brother trembling. Trying to keep it all in.

"For what?" Tim asked, genuinely curious. In his mind, Dick had a lot to be sorry for, no question. But Dick always held himself to such a high standard, was always so disappointed in himself if he didn't exceed his own expectations…he could be apologizing for something that wasn't even his fault. Bruce had explained it as perfectionism, and it was, but Tim always thought it also came from a place deeper than that. Dick worked so hard to be perfect for others more so than for himself. If he failed, in his mind he hadn't just failed himself, he'd failed everyone.

"All of it. Just all of it," Dick answered. He sounded so lost, "I've been trying, but…I've been a terrible brother. I…I'm supposed to protect you guys, but I…haven't. I don't blame you for…for not talking to me and if you wanna walk away, I get it. I really do. This isn't your…this isn't your problem." Dick said, angrily wiping his face where tears had started to form, but he'd refused to let them fall. For the first time in months, Tim believed him too. This wasn't tactics or logic. This was Dick reaching a breaking point. Admitting that he was wrong. Giving Tim every excuse to turn his back and walk away.

"I'm not leaving," Tim assured him, moving his hand to squeeze his shoulder. Dick turned watery eyes to venture a cautious look at Tim. He hated that. That Dick was being careful around him. That Dick was hurting this much and he'd contributed to it in some way. That Dick, his happy-go-lucky, confident older brother looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"You should. Walk away, I mean…everything you said…" Dick started.

"I was angry. I didn't really mean most of it," Tim admitted, not letting himself or Dick elaborate. He regretted those words now. Not just because they'd hurt his brother, but because they'd been a result of his losing control. He rarely lost control like that and now Dick was paying for it. Which circled back to the more immediate concern of how to calm Dick down enough to have a rational conversation. Dick was more emotional than the rest of them, sure, but he didn't break down like this. Certainly not over a few harsh words. There was more too it. A bigger picture.

Tim wordlessly lead Dick to sit in the edge of Bruce's bed with him. It wasn't much, but if he had been sleeping in it as Tim suspected, maybe it would help comfort him now. And they sat, side by side for the moment, Dick dropping his head forward trying to keep in control of himself, Tim rubbing a hand over his back for lack of being able to think of anything else to do.

"It's just…it's a lot to take in, you know?" Dick spoke softly after a moment. Tim had to agree. The part of him that hadn't been furiously angry with Dick had wondered how he'd done it all. He had Alfred, of course, but at the end of the day he was basically alone trying to keep the loose ends Bruce had left from unraveling around them.

"Yeah," Tim said. Dick didn't really owe him an explanation for any of this, but Tim was sort of hoping he'd give him one anyway.

"I know I have to do better, but I don't know how. Bruce, he always knew, you know? He always understood," Dick added, his voice steadying, but still cracking a touch at the end.

"Maybe we'd understand too. If you told us," Tim suggested. At least it looked as though Tim's efforts were starting to work as Dick appeared to be calming down for the moment. The part of Tim's mind that wasn't currently reeling at the encounter was pleased that at least he hadn't made it worse.

"Who would I tell? People have enough problems of their own," He asked Tim with a shrug. It was a confusing question. Dick was so well liked, so highly regarded by the superhero community. He made friends everywhere he went without really trying. He was known for it. If word got out that Dick had needed a shoulder to cry on, quite literally to Tim's surprise, there'd probably be a lineup from the front gate to the door of current and former costumed vigilantes offering up a shoulder. Probably a few civilians too. Maybe that was part of the problem, Tim realized. Word spread quickly in their community and the bats were notoriously secretive, especially with anything that could be seen as a weakness. Bruce had taught them this much, and normally it served them well. Then there were times like this. Both of them had struggled with it in the past. Tim distinctly remembered struggling on numerous occasions when it came to revealing his identity to the Teen Titans and that wasn't even a weakness, just a simple fact.

"There has to be someone," Tim suggests weakly. "You have a lot of friends."

"Tim, I can't," Dick answers back, using both hands to push the hair out of his face as he sat up straighter, meeting Tim's eyes. And strangely enough Tim got it. He has friends too, close friends, but they never really understood the way the Bats operated. They listened, and they were understanding but at the end of the day they always questioned it. Why keep so many arbitrary secrets? Why do you have to be so detached? Why do you train so hard when you're already so good? And most of all they never really understood why the two of them were so devoted to Batman, a man that most people trusted, but few people liked. They rarely if ever saw the side of Batman that his Robins did. Perhaps only a handful of them saw the side of Bruce that had opened his home, and what was left of his heart, to these kids who had nothing else left.

"Maybe…maybe you could talk to me," Tim suggests and even his voice was starting to sound nervous. Things hadn't been good between them lately. Far from it. Tim wasn't sure he'd ever been this mad at someone he couldn't actively send to Arkham for their crimes. But he still loved Dick. They were family. And any rejection would still hurt.

"I didn't think we were on speaking terms these days," Dick said with a strange half-smile coming on his face. It looked sad though. Especially combined with his watery eyes. Tim nearly flinched. He had a point. He had tried to reach out, but Tim had shut him out completely. "It isn't your fault, Timmy. It's mine, okay?" Dick added gently, as if he could sense Tim's guilt.

"I could have answered a couple of your calls," Tim admits, guilt gnawing at him from somewhere deep inside his chest. Maybe if he had answered a call or two they wouldn't have been in this situation now.

"I get why you didn't. When Bruce fired me I didn't speak to him for a year and a half. Not really anyway. Even then, we mostly just yelled at each other," Dick started, looking far-away suddenly. The information wasn't new to Tim, he'd actually figured it out well before he'd gotten the short-hand version from Alfred, but Dick almost never talked about it. Neither did Bruce. "The stupid part is I…I didn't even realize what I'd actually done until after I'd already done it. I wouldn't have answered my calls either."

And just like that Tim was torn. The hand he'd kept on Dicks back returned to him and he watched Dick close his eyes, all traces of mirth leaving his face before turning his gaze back out the window. He wasn't ready to forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not for some time. But Dick was making it hard to stay mad. Looking at the plan objectively from Dick's point of view…it made sense. He had to do something with Damian. He couldn't send him back to Talia, that was certain, but letting him loose into the public was extremely dangerous. Damian was unpredictable, stood on shaky moral ground and was highly trained to boot. He'd have a trail of dead bodies leading up to Dick's doorstep in a week if left unchecked. Dick's solution was unorthodox, but it was the best option. Give Damian a way to put his training to use for good, give him direction, teach him discipline and hope he takes the lessons to heart. Tim didn't think it would work ultimately, but…it was still the best of a bad situation.

Dick had said that Tim was too good to be a sidekick. That he was his equal now. But Tim hadn't felt that himself. He had doubts about his own abilities. Most of all, he hadn't been given the choice. He found out he wasn't going to be Robin anymore by the little demon spawn showing up in a Robin outfit one day. Dick probably hadn't planned it that way, but that's how it had happened and Dick hadn't exactly shown any remorse at the time. A part of him thought maybe Dick was right and it had been time to move on…after all he had been the oldest Robin at that point. Jason had died at 15 and Dick had become Nightwing at 16. Dick had always told them that life didn't stop after Robin, had shown them that up to the point where he'd reluctantly become Batman. But Tim hadn't been ready to move on. He had no plan. Dick knew Tim would be lost with no plan going in to it and yet he'd sprung it on him anyway, as if Robin was still his to give and take and it just wasn't. Dick had created it, paved a path for the rest of them, but it wasn't his anymore. It hadn't been his since Batman had taken in from him in much the same way and given it to Jason. How had Dick not seen this?

They were supposed to be a team. They were supposed to protect Gotham together. Dick wasn't just his partner, he had been his friend. His mentor. None of it was supposed to be like this. But neither of them could change the events of the past no matter how much they may desire to. Looking at Dick now, lost and alone, sparked something inside of him. They may not be Batman and Robin, they may not even be friends, but they were still brothers and Tim had clearly lost sight of that at some point. And it still meant the world to him. Tim had had such a lonely upbringing, filled with boarding schools and uninterested staff to make sure he was still alive on the odd occasion his parents remembered he existed. Then he'd ultimately ended up losing even them. But Dick, Bruce and Alfred had been very much the opposite and it was Tim's first real taste of what a family should be. None of them were related by blood and none of them had been born into it, but somehow they all become family and Tim was welcomed into the fold as if he was always meant to be there. Dick had been especially instrumental in this, adopting him as his little brother well before any official papers had been drafted up. And Tim had secretly loved it. Tim had really never wanted siblings growing up like a lot of other children did, but he realized at some point that that was probably just because he hadn't known what he was missing.

"I should have anyway. You're still my brother. And you obviously needed someone," Tim announced, causing Dick to open his eyes and turn to him, searching Tim's eyes for any hint that he was just saying this for Dick's benefit.

"Tim, you don't have to worry about me, okay? I'm the big brother and I'm the one who needs to worry about you," Dick explained gently, pushing a piece of Tim's hair out of his eyes.

"You're only human, Dick. You said it yourself, it's a lot to take on all at once," Tim paused a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, "I'm not…I'm not ready to forgive you yet, but it doesn't mean that I can't be there for you. So tell me what's going on."

Dick was silent a long time, contemplative. Tim knew about his big brother complex, hell even Jason knew about that, but he hoped that Dick had meant it when he'd said they were equals. "Can we…not do this here?" Dick asked after a moment, and it took Tim a second to realize he'd meant the room. Bruce's room. And he had to remind himself again that Dick still thought he was dead. That he was never coming back. Being in this room must be as much torture as it was a comfort. Even Tim was struggling and he knew Bruce would return to it one day.

"We could go down to the kitchen. See if Alfred forgot to bring any snacks to the penthouse," Tim suggested with a hint of mischief. Dick had the beginnings of a smile too.

"Oh he left every bag of chips, box of cookies and sugary snack he could. Let's do it," Dick says. It feels good when he puts his arm around Tim's shoulder and leads him out of Bruce's room.

"So, let me get this straight…in addition to keeping Bruce's phone alive, you've been breaking into the manor and hanging out in Bruce's room?" Tim asked.

"Sort of," Dick admits, grabbing a handful of chips, "mostly just if I've had a bad night. It's not all the time."

"It looks like a lot of bad nights," Tim called him out gently as he could. The room had looked well used. Dick looked a little sheepish, but didn't answer. It was answer enough for Tim. "The only thing I didn't understand were the pictures. Why flip them over like that?" Tim asked, partially to get them off the topic and partially for his own curiosity.

"Oh, that? I don't know. It seemed wrong to put them away, but I didn't want to look at them either. So I came to a compromise," Dick explained "Too many memories," He added seeing Tim's confused look. But it turned him quickly from confused to worried. Dick clearly wasn't coping well.

"When did it start?" He asked, genuinely curious. Had this started while he was still Robin? Before Dick took the cowl? Had Tim missed this completely?

"The text messages or the breaking in?" He asked.

"Both."

"Well the text messages started when Bruce's phone bill came in and I realized I could still send the messages. I…meant to cancel it, I really did. But then, I don't know. Jason was running around Gotham calling himself Batman and Damian was out of control…It started as almost a joke. But then that crisis ended, and another one came up, then another one and it didn't stop. I needed Bruce and he wasn't there, and being able to send him a message once in a while kinda made me feel like he was. So I kept the account running under Wayne Enterprises and used one of our dummy phones so no one would get suspicious. I didn't count on you keeping an eye on it though," Dick explained with a sigh. He looked tired, but at least he was talking now. "The manor thing? That was after we'd moved. Mostly," Dick said, but didn't elaborate. Tim wasn't sure why exactly. Embarrassment perhaps. He didn't personally think Dick had much to be embarrassed about. Why should he have to feel bad for grieving? Tim, logical as he was, wasn't immune from it. He'd kept a bottle of his mom's old perfume around, a few of his dad's old articles of clothing. They served no real purpose, but it had always felt good to know that they were there if he needed them, even if his parents weren't. He saw where Dick was coming from. But others may not see it that way. And still others may even judge him for it, especially now that he wore the cowl. "I know it's pathetic. I mean, what adult breaks into their childhood home to sleep in their dad's old bed, right?"

"What started it?" Tim asks. Perhaps he was prying too much, pushing too hard, but he had to try.

"Uh…well, Damian was in a bad mood," Dick started. Tim wasn't even surprised it had had something to do with Damian. "I'd called him out on being too rough with a mugger, and you know how much he likes that….but anyway he said…" Dick had to pause, looking surprised by the break in how own voice. Tim had been waiting for it at some point. Dick was emotionally vulnerable right now and everything Tim had seen upstairs proved that. He looked outwardly fine but Tim knew better. He and Dick had many traits in common, and burying their vulnerabilities deep was certainly one of them. Another one was that when those emotions finally spilled over into tears it took them both a long time to stop. "He said some things. He didn't really mean it. He was just trying to get to me. I shouldn't have let it, but it kinda did," Dick admitted shamefully. Tim could fill in the blanks from there on what happened next. Dick would have dealt with Damian, assured Alfred he was fine, then snuck off to the manor when no one was looking to try and make himself feel better. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something like that.

"What did he say?" Tim asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, honestly. Damian had a knack for saying the nastiest things you could imagine. He regularly told Tim just how inadequate he was and as much as he hated to admit it, it had played into his insecurities that he wasn't as good as the others, his fears that he really didn't belong here. Someone was usually quick to reassure him, but the fact was it still stung to hear the words spoken aloud. And by Bruce's only living blood relative to boot.

"It's really not important," Dick quickly assured him. Tim knew it had to be bad.

"What was it?" Tim in inquired again. Dick was stubborn, but even he could be worn down eventually.

"He…said something about how Bruce could never really love an adopted son…It was stupid," Dick said quickly, Tim barely catching the words. But he had, and he had to repress a flinch even hearing them second-hand. It was always the elephant in the room when it came to Damian. They were all Bruce's sons legally, but they didn't' share the same blood. Tim had wondered, albeit briefly, if that meant that he was Bruce's son in legal title only. Would it be different if he shared genes with Bruce? They'd never talked about it, him and Dick. How they had felt about being adopted, especially now that it turned out Bruce had an actual 'blood son' as Damian called it. Cass never seemed to question it, Jason had rejected it outright, but the two of them were sort of left in an odd state of not knowing exactly where they stood. There was no question Bruce had cared for them…but was it the same?

"Tim. Look at me," He heard Dick command, drawing him out of his thoughts. Despite himself, his blue eyes met Dicks as he continued, "It was stupid. Damian only says things like that to get a reaction. Bruce loved both of us," he said. And the conviction in his voice did ease some of Tim's fears, at least for the moment. Dick had always had that effect.

"I know," Tim says, and he's telling the truth, but the fact remains, "But you must have doubted that a little bit at the time if it drove you here," Tim added. Not judging. Just stating a fact. And Dick flinched a little.

"Geez Tim, do you ever turn that brain of yours off?" He asked with a hint if his usual humour. Only a hint though.

"Sorry, no off switch," Tim deadpanned back, taking his own handful of chips from the bag. "You're avoiding the question," Tim reminded him. Dick's trace of humour disappeared nearly instantly and he looked away.

"Like I said, it shouldn't have, but it just got to me. It had been a shitty night. The texts weren't enough," Dick said with a shrug. It was troubling. It hadn't been a long time by any means. Tim still had moments where he had to remind himself that Bruce wasn't there. The text he'd read earlier, where Dick had explained how he'd picked up the phone to call him only to realize there wouldn't be an answer…Tim still lived that weekly. He wasn't sure how long it would last. It had happened with his dad too, but his dad hadn't typically been as available to him as Bruce had been, so Tim had no gauge to measure this on. But that was normal. It still happened, but it had declined with time. It had started out near daily, then went to every other day. Now it was twice a week at most. Tim was adjusting to life without Bruce, even if it would only be a temporary state. Dick clearly wasn't. His behavior was escalating, and had been for some time. Tim was no therapist, but there's no way that was healthy. At least, at the very least, he was telling Tim now.

"Dick, you realize that this is really unhealthy, right? I'm not…I don't really know what normal is in these situations, but this doesn't seem like normal, you know?" Tim tried to explain gently. Yes, Dick's temper may rear its ugly head, but someone had to tell him. He watched his brothers gaze darken.

"So what? You think I should just move on and forget about him?" Dick bites back without looking at him. His face is hard, jaw set rigidly, but his eyes looked pained.

"No. God no. I just want to help," Tim said quickly in response.

"You can't, Tim," Dick said, voice tight. "You just…Do you know what it's like to have to wear his costume every night? Run his company? Raise his son? How the hell am I supposed to move on when everything, everything reminds me that he isn't there anymore?!" Tim looked at Dick then, face pained, but this time not trying to hide it and felt his own breath catch at the rawness of that admission. Tim hadn't thought about this. He was able to make a clean break in many ways. He was Red Robin now, had his own identity, his own apartment, his own life. Dick had no such luxury. He was living Bruce's life because Bruce couldn't. Had his own life and identity that he'd worked so hard to build ripped away the moment their father had been lost. It was a constant reminder, a slap in the face, both to the fact that his life was not his own anymore and the one man who had always relied on to catch him when he fell was gone forever.

"Sorry," Dick apologized after a moment of realization, perhaps after seeing Tim's stricken face, "I'm sorry. I made that choice, I have no right to complain about it," He added with a deep breath. Tim paused. What choice had Dick really had? Let Gotham fall into the hands of whomever broke out of Arkham first? Let Jason put on the cowl and go on a murder spree in the name of Batman? Watch from a distance as Wayne enterprises fell and left thousands of people jobless? Give Damian back to that lunatic he calls a mother? Not much of a choice, really. But Tim hadn't known, none of them had, how badly it would mess with Dick psychologically. Dick had been the first one Bruce had taken in. They meant so much to each other. Dick hadn't even had time to mourn him before it was all thrust upon his shoulders. And Tim felt sick realizing he'd just… let it all happen. They all had. As far as he knew, no one aside from Alfred had offered Dick any additional help. Not with Damian, not with the company, not with Bruce's crusade. They took it at face value that Dick would be just fine. He'd land on his feet somehow, cause he always did, but they'd all neglected the fact that the fall would still be terrifying and the landing would still hurt like hell.

Tim moved without thinking then, and in a few quick steps stood in front of his older brother. Dick looked up, with more pain in his eyes than Tim had ever seen him display openly and a question. Tim couldn't stop himself when he impulsively drew him into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to do this all alone," Tim told him, swallowing around the lump forming in his own throat as Dick's arms tightly returning the hug Tim had offered him. Tim closed his eyes, but his own tears still fell stubbornly.

"It was my fault. I drove you away," Dick choked out quietly. Tim could tell he was on the verge of tears now as well.

"I was so angry I didn't even think to ask if you were okay," Tim admitted, "We all did. It wasn't fair," he added with a shaky breath. And that small bit of understanding was all it took for Dick to start sobbing brokenly into his shirt, finally succumbing to the overwhelming pressure he'd been under.

"I don't know if I can do it anymore. I miss him so much, but I can't be him. I suck as Batman and I drove all of you away. It fell apart and it's all on me," Dick choked out once he'd caught his breath enough to speak. Tim sniffled and pulled Dick in impossibly tighter to him.

"It's okay, he'd be proud of you. I miss him," Tim admitted, feeling new tears forming against his will. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been emotional like this and he hated it, but he needed it. They both needed it. And it felt so right to have his big brother there. "And I miss you too," he added, the realization having hit him hard.

"I'm right here. I'll always be right here," Dick assured him, standing and cradling Tim as he'd done every other time he'd needed it. And it felt good to know that Dick, the big bother he'd come to know and love, was still in there after all.

The tears had fallen freely between them, for what felt like a long time. Tim sat on the bar stool next to Dick, leaning his head on his shoulder as the last of the tears fell.

"Breathe, Dick," Tim reminded him gently, and Dick nodded, drawing a breath in that was much steadier than any he had taken previously. They were both drained. Emotionally, for sure, probably physically as well, though at least that was nothing new. Tim swallowed, his throat feeling a bit raw, and wiped at his eyes with his free hand.

"You okay?" Dick asked, voice still tight. Tim could clearly see, if not feel, that Dick was still struggling to control his breathing fully.

"I think so. You?" Tim asked dully.

"Getting there," Dick assured him. But Tim knew. Neither of them were really okay. They hadn't been okay since Bruce had disappeared. It may be a while before either of them would really be okay again.

"We should think about going. It's almost 5," Tim noted, lifting his head, though made no moves to actually leave. Dick sniffled and looked over at the clock that had been on the wall as long as they could remember.

"Yeah. Alfred said he was serving dinner at 6:30 sharp and if I was late he was giving my share to the dog," Dick said with a hint of amusement. Tim given a watery chuckle at this too. It was likely no idle threat either. Alfred had insisted that they spend Christmas together and would stop at nothing to make sure it happened. Every year. No matter how much Bruce protested. Tim had always had a strange relationship with Christmas. His own parents had often been absent during the holiday. Apparently cruise companies offered up the best deals around December to drum up business during the Christmas lull. They'd make sure he had a gift to open, of course, but Christmas dinner really wasn't a thing he'd participated in until he'd come to the manor. Alfred always insisted that unless the world was actively ending, there were to be no costumes whatsoever. No one had ever dared challenge him on this, of course. Though the dinner he made alone would have kept Tim out of the cape for a night, official rule or not. The awe from his first Christmas at Wayne manor hadn't worn off even after all these years. He'd never seen anything like it. It had been a small affair. Just Bruce, Alfred, Dick and himself for the most part. Barbara had stopped in briefly to wish everyone a Merry Christmas at some point and exchange gifts, but hadn't stuck around very long before heading out to the commissioner's home for her own family dinner. Tim had loved it. It was the first time he could clearly remember that he'd spent Christmas with family. Having dinner, opening gifts, watching old movies. He hadn't even known what he'd been missing up to this point. Tim wondered what the demon spawn would be up to tonight. Perhaps sacrificing a chicken in the name of Santa Claus? He wasn't sure if he was simply curious or if a small part of him actually cared. The kid was technically family, but his short experience with him was 90% flinging insults and 10% near-death experiences. It must just be curiosity. Dick probably had some stuff planned for him.

"You know…You are still welcome to join us. If you want," Dick says cautiously. Tim turned to him, seeing the hopeful gaze in his eyes, but he was unsure. He'd cleared some things up with Dick, but it's not like all their problems would just go away with a single conversation. And Damian would be there. Tim highly doubted that despite all of Dick's efforts Damian would be anything other than an obnoxious little asshole the whole night. But he supposed what really bothered him was that Bruce wouldn't be there. He assumed that was the reason Cass wouldn't be joining them for Christmas dinner this year despite her love of the holiday. He knew it was always harder at certain times of the year when you had lost someone. Birthdays, anniversaries…Christmas always seemed to hit especially hard. It was just one of those times when the whole family was expected to get together and when someone was missing it was so glaringly obvious. Tim wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that yet.

"I don't know. It would be kinda weird," Tim says, not wanting to say no, but not really able to articulate emotions in any other way. Dick shrugs and Tim can see he's trying to hide the shade of disappointment that crossed his face.

"I won't push it. But I'm giving you a ride back into Gotham whether you like it or not," Dick informs him. Tim wouldn't have thought it when he entered the manor, but he could handle that. "And Tim?" he asks, more softly.

"Yeah?" Tim asks tentatively.

"I do want to believe you. About Bruce," Dick pauses and Tim holds his breath. He wasn't sure why he was so scared all of a sudden. He had all the confidence in the world that he could find Bruce…but Dick had never openly admitted that there was a chance Bruce was alive before now. Maybe Tim was afraid that this would be the part of the conversation that would destroy the fragile reconciliation they'd just started to form. After all, Tim had learned that what the universe giveth, the universe inevitably always took away. He watched Dick swallow thickly, biting his lip just a little. Unsure of whether to continue. "I want to believe you so badly. It's just that…if I let myself believe it and he didn't come back…" And Tim watched Dick struggle to get more words out, but more words weren't necessary. Tim understood now. Dick was already hanging on by a thread. Losing Bruce once turned him into a broken mess. Losing Bruce a second time would completely destroy him. Still, the acknowledgement, the fact that Dick wasn't just dismissing him outright…it wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

"We can agree to disagree," Tim assured him, not forcing his brother to continue. He hadn't been lying. He'd missed Dick bitterly the past months. Not all had been forgiven, a lot hadn't yet been forgiven, but he'd be damned if he was gonna let him go again that easily.

"I can live with that," Dick replied with a nod and a rueful half-smile, "And I won't stop you, but you have to promise that if things get too intense out there, you'll call me? I miss Bruce, I really do, but I wouldn't ever trade him for you. Promise me?" Dick asks him. Tim feels a strange weight lifted off his shoulders at this.

"I promise," Tim says with a nod. Then after a pause, "So…is Alfred still making a turkey this year?" Tim asks cautiously and he hears Dick let out a small laugh. Weird or not, spending Christmas alone was sounding less and less appealing the longer he talked with Dick.

"Yep. I tried to talk him out of it since there was only three of us, but he insisted. Turkey is traditional, and you know how much Alfred likes tradition," Dick said quirking one eyebrow. Tim couldn't help but smile a little at that too. How many years had Bruce tried to talk him into ordering Chinese food only for Alfred to balk at the idea and cook a turkey big enough to feed an army anyway? "There'll probably be way more than we can eat. And Damian is on this vegetarian kick right now…we'll probably just end up throwing most of it away," Dick added, doing that thing where he was being obviously, yet incredibly charmingly, manipulative. Still, it was a tragedy to throw away any of Alfred's cooking.

"Maybe I could just stay for dinner?" Tim suggested. And it was an okay compromise. He'd get to see Alfred, have a really nice dinner and on the plus side, Damian's mouth would probably be too full to hurl insults at them. And it didn't hurt that he saw real happiness in Dick's eyes that hadn't been there for some time.

"Yeah, that's cool. You can stay for dinner, grab your present and go if that's what you want. It'll make Alfred really happy to see you," Dick said.

"I have a present?" Tim asked, caught off guard by the news.

"Of course you do," Dick said as though the question had been ridiculous. Tim realized then that Dick hadn't forgotten him, nor given up hope that he would make an appearance even though the chance was so, so small just hours ago. But that was part of what made his brother so different from the rest of them. It was the acrobat in him, he'd explained to Tim once. Sometimes you just had to take the jump and trust that the bar would be there when you needed it.

"I…uh…I really didn't do any Christmas shopping this year," Tim admitted sheepishly, and in retrospect he left like a complete tool for not even thinking to send a gift to his family. He'd been busy, and well…angry, but the excuse seemed so thin now. Dick didn't falter though.

"That's okay. Jason didn't get me anything either," He says with a laugh and a shrug, and Tim knows he means it. Dick had never really cared much for material goods. Though it does bring up the question…

"You got Jason a gift?" Tim asks skeptically, wondering passingly if Dick actually did have a death wish that he should know about.

"Well sure. He may be an ass-hat, but he is family," Dick explained simply, "he wasn't too happy that I'd found his safe house again though," Dick added as an afterthought. And Tim had to laugh. Genuinely laugh. It had been a surprisingly tense afternoon, and he supposed it was just a natural reaction.

"God, I can't believe he thinks he's being so subtle when it comes to his safe houses," Tim laughs much too hard at his estranged brothers expense. And Dick joins him, near hysterical.

"I know, right?! He may as well put up a sign," Dick says between laughter that he and Tim share for much longer than the humour in the joke warranted. If anyone else had been in the manor, they'd probably be in straight jackets now. But if felt good after the tense moments that'd passed between them all afternoon. He really couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this…before Bruce disappeared for sure.

"Okay…Okay," Dick says after their laughter stars to die down, "We should really start moving. I would hate to show up and see the dog eat a better dinner than us tonight. You are actually coming, right?" he added, quietly, looking up hopefully at Tim. Tim calmed himself and pondered the question a moment.

"Three conditions," He tells Dick, who quirks his head.

"Okay?" he asks, prompting Tim to continue.

"One: I get first dibs on whatever part of the Turkey I want," He started, holding up a finger for effect. Dick nodded.

"Fine, but if you flaunt it in front of me, I'm throwing peas at you every time Alfred turns away," Dick agrees. Tim snorts at this. "Every. Time. What's your next demand?" And at this Tim turns serious a moment, pausing to try and get the words to sound right in his head before he spoke them.

"Two: Next time you have a shitty day and you feel like you have to text Bruce…" Tim started, and Dick's face turned stricken for a moment, a hint of apprehension creeping into his features, "I want you to text me too," Tim finished. He could see that Dick wasn't quite ready to quit the text messages yet, and it was unlikely Tim would get the kinds of candid text messages that Bruce's phone had been receiving detailing exactly what Dick had been thinking or feeling in the moment, but at least Dick would be given the comfort of a reply. His brother nodded slowly and seemed a little bit hesitant, but open to the idea.

"Tim, I don't want to pile all my problems on to you. It's not fair," Dick said gently. Tim was having none of it.

"It's totally fair. You'd do the same for me. And besides, I'm your brother and I'm asking you to," Tim said stubbornly, crossing his arms for effect. Dick let a small, sad smile cross his face as he thought about it.

"Okay," Dick finally answers simply, still not quite meeting Tim's eyes. But Dick is a man of his word, and Tim knows that he'll keep the promise, even if it's only reluctantly.

"Good. Cause you aren't alone," Tim reminds him. And he vowed not to let Dick feel like he is ever again.

"I think I knew that, but…it's not easy to ask for help," Dick admits quietly, and Tim nods, understanding in a way that only another Robin could.

"You didn't. I forced it on you," Tim offers up as an excuse, and Dick catches his eyes, Tim's own hint of mischief mirrored in his. "And I'd do it again for Alfred's Christmas dinner" Tim reminds him, not so stealthily dodging the topic.

"We should clean ourselves up first. I caught my reflection in the window earlier and we both look like hell. Alfred is not gonna let us off the hook if we come in looking like this," Dick says, standing from his seat. Indeed Dick looked like something the cat had dragged in, hair messy from the drying snow, eyes still red against the bright blue of his eyes, complexion just a touch too ashen. Tim had had a feeling he looked as bad as he felt too. His face had a tendency to go bright red when he got emotional and he could feel the familiar heat on the surface of his skin now. He could only guess at the rest.

"He's still gonna know. It's Alfred. He knows everything," Tim says with a shrug. He'd asked Bruce once when he first met Alfred if the older man was some sort of meta-human. Bruce assured him he wasn't, then told Tim to be careful anyway. Meta gene or not, Alfred knew everything.

"Nuh-uh. We've pulled the wool over his eyes before, we can do it again," Dick insists childishly. Tim scoffs.

"Just cause he doesn't say anything, doesn't mean he doesn't know," Tim insists. Dick looks unimpressed.

"Tim, its Christmas. You're not supposed to destroy my dreams on Christmas," Dick says dryly with one raised eyebrow.

"Fine, live in your fantasy land," Tim says with a dramatic wave of his hand as he stands from his seat to join Dick. "I'm gonna get ready to go to dinner."

"Wait, but you said three things," Dick reminds him as he follows Tim out of the kitchen.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Three: I reserve the right to punch Damian in the face one time," Tim says.

"What?! Tim. No," Dick says sternly. And Tim shrugs.

"Had to try," He says, not surprised in the least, but a little bit disappointed none the less. "Two out of three ain't bad."

"We're having turkey, not meatloaf," Dick tells him. Tim rolls his eyes, at the terrible joke. At the same time, he didn't think he'd ever been more relieved to hear one of Dick's terrible puns.

"Haven't met your bad joke quota for the year yet?" Tim asks him. Dick just smiles back.

"Why just meet a quota when you can exceed it? Now let's clean you up. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to Christmas dinner," He responds, leading Tim with a hand on his back.

It had been a long year, in particular the past few months, with more ups and downs than the worlds grandest roller coasters. But, this year was nearly over. Christmas being the one last hurrah before the calendar turned, a celebration of all that was good. They wouldn't have Bruce, it was true. And there would also be empty seats where Cass and Jason would be absent. Perhaps in a perfect world, there would have also been a place setting for each of their biological parents around the table too, but the world was far from a perfect one. But this, having his older and younger brothers together with him at the table while Alfred looked on proudly…it meant more to him than he had realized. To Tim's surprise, he found himself responding to his brothers' statement without a second thought.

"You know what? So am I."


End file.
